


In which Sherlock realizes he loves John because of a small child.

by slytherdor



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Genre: A baby - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:42:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherdor/pseuds/slytherdor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has a child and Sherlock doesn't know what to do with a child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which Sherlock realizes he loves John because of a small child.

It’s Christmas Eve and the doorbell rings. John can hear Mrs. Hudson go down the steps and open the door. He hears Mrs. Hudson’s slow footfalls on the stairs and her timid knock on the door. Sherlock comes down from John’s room – Wait, what was he doing in John’s room?

‘Something’s wrong. Mrs. Hudson is too heavy and slow.’ Sherlock mutters and flings open the door, startling a gasp from Mrs. Hudson and a whimper from the thing in her arms. Sherlock falters. The landlady gently shoves past the taller man and walks towards John, holding out a bundle of blankets.

‘What? Mrs. Hud-‘John is suddenly staring into the face of a tiny baby with grey-blue eyes. The baby blinks sleepily. John blinks slowly. He realizes that Mrs. Hudson is holding something else out to him; a piece of paper. ‘Sherlock, could you?’ asks John, nodding towards the note. Sherlock scans the paper and his eyes widen, alarming John even more.

‘John Watson. This baby is yours. I know he is, get tested all you like, he looks exactly like you. I cannot support a baby. I am not staying in London. Good luck.’ Sherlock looks at the baby. ‘We can’t keep it.’ He says, flatly.

‘We can’t get rid of it.’ John retorts, instinctively holding the baby closer to his chest. The baby whimpers again and clutches at John’s jumper. Sherlock opens his mouth to reply but he can see in John’s face that this is not an argument he will win. Fine, thinks Sherlock.

Mrs. Hudson makes some milk and leaves the tree boys in the flat with a ‘I’m just downstairs if you need anything.’

-Christmas morning-

John wakes up to the sight of a small set of fingers mashing his nose. What the hell? He thinks, before remembering the events of last night. He blinks a few times and looks at the baby. He’s small and stocky, like a small child usually is but he definitely looks like John. Blue eyes. Broad shoulders. Round face. Well shit, thinks John. This is my child. Then, he smells the baby.

‘SHERLOCK!’ calls John, slipping a jumper over his head. He knows Sherlock can hear him. He knows he’s being ignored. ‘SHERLOCK.’ When the tall man finally appears in the doorway, John puts the baby in his arms. He can’t suppress a twitch of his mouth at the way Sherlock looks at the child (who is currently reaching for the dark curls on top of his head) as if it’s a particularly annoying version of Mycroft.

‘I need to go and get… things. Nappies, I suppose… Baby formula… Some clothes…’ Starts John, but Mrs. Hudson chooses that moment to pop her head around the door. She’s fully dressed and smiles warmly at John.

‘Come on John, we have some shopping to do.’ She giggles at Sherlock. ‘Now Sherlock, no experiments on the baby. No leaving it alone. No giving it away or anything. You stay here and you look after it. Do you understand?’ says the old woman firmly. Sherlock nods. John and Mrs. Hudson leave.

What am I meant to do with a child? What does it eat? Where does it… excrete? What if it cries?

Sherlock answers his own questions before realizing he’s still standing on the landing outside John’s room. The baby is tugging at the grey t-shirt situated under the silky blue robe.

I’m supposed to take care of it. I think it drinks milk. In its… pants? Calm it.

Sherlock walks to the sitting room analyzing John. Sherlock would never say so, but he had watched John last night. When he’d gone to sleep, Sherlock had snuck into his room and watched. He had seen that John had placed the baby on a pillow next to him (it was small enough to be cradled in the pillow still). John had slept on his usual side of the bed and had not rolled over. It was odd, John always rolled over and ended up on the wrong side in the morning. At one point, John had placed a hand on the baby’s stomach, still asleep, and sighed.

Sherlock would never admit it, but it had been very endearing. At one point, he remembered, he was imagining the feeling of John putting his hand on his stomach. A few minutes after that, Sherlock had pictured John snuggled up to his back with an arm flung over his middle. In fact, he can see it now-

No. Stop. This is John. His Blogger. His colleague. His friend. His John. Sherlock’s John. Sherlock’s wonderful John. Sherlock’s-

No. Stop. The baby had gone to sleep. Sherlock looked down and was shocked at how much the child resembled his John. Broad shoulders, round face, short, average nose. There was no doubt that this was John’s child. He was beautiful. Beautiful? How can a child be beautiful? He was beautiful like John.

What?

The baby woke up. It started to bawl and tears formed. Sherlock tried everything. He warmed up milk, he changed the nappy. He gave it water. Finally, he plonked down unceremoniously onto the couch and sat the baby up on his knee. He started to bounce his knee and the baby stopped crying. It was laughing. Interesting.

The baby had a laugh that sounded like John’s laugh. It was strong and free and gentle and caring all at the same time. Sherlock realized that he loved John’s laugh.

The baby smiled up at Sherlock. It was John’s smile.

It was in that moment that Sherlock realized how much he valued John. He needed John like John needed food or sleep or… John needed Sherlock.

For hours, Sherlock raged an internal debate. He could not allow himself to love John. It would be distracting. What if the feelings weren't reciprocated. He fed the baby. What if John felt intimidated or awkward?

John and Mrs. Hudson came in the door and stopped. Sherlock was sprawled on the couch with baby John stretched out on his chest. Both the baby and the child were asleep. John looked at Mrs. Hudson, Mrs. Hudson looked at john. They smiled.

Sherlock woke to the sound of the baby making incomprehensible noises and the feeling of drool pooling on his chest. It was night time. Late at night. Sherlock didn't think. He took the baby with him and dropped into John’s bed, placing the baby between them and the blanket over everyone. John woke up momentarily and, without processing what was happening, reached out and rested his hand on Sherlock’s stomach, simultaneously adding a protective barrier over the child.

In the moments before sleep took him, Sherlock was content. He was happy. He was in love. With John. They had a child to look after.

John blinked awake sleepily. ‘Hamish.’ Said Sherlock.

‘What?’ groaned John. He suddenly realized that Sherlock was mirroring his position, they were both curled into the fetal position facing towards the baby. Sherlock’s eyes were locked on him.

‘The baby’s name is Hamish.’

‘I like that.’ John smiled, ‘I was afraid you’d want to name him Mycroft or something.’

Sherlock screwed up his face like a petulant child.

‘John. Really.’ Their eyes locked and Sherlock’s gaze flickered to John’s lips for just a moment. The shorter man carefully moved himself so as to not wake the baby. Hamish. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s lightly. They smiled.


End file.
